He hesitated and looked out at the lush greenery. “I don’t think Aunt Belle’s in a rush to sell Matchmaker, but to be honest, we haven’t exactly discussed it.”
Rhiannon tugged her sweatshirt down over her hands so she could stick her thumbs into the holes. It hadn’t occurred to her before, but what if he demanded something in return for this favor? Another date, or a kiss, or sex. She’d have to be ready for him to be awful. A dozen snappish retorts rose on her tongue.
“You know what? I don’t see the harm of an introduction. Okay.”
She opened her mouth and then closed it again. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’ll ask her if she’ll meet with you.” He leveled a stern look her way. “But like I said, she’s private, so anything I’ve told you about her relationship with me or Joe isn’t for public consumption. And if she does meet with you, you will treat her kindly and fairly. No hardball business tactics. Aunt Belle is a sweet woman and she’s lost her sister and her partner in the same year. She might be an entrepreneur, but there’s a reason she leaves the actual running of the company to others.”
Don’t get too excited. He could flake on you. “No hardball,” she said quickly. “I know you may have heard differently, but I promise I play fair.”
“The only things I’ve heard about you, Rhiannon, have been admiring.”
She licked her dry lips. If she thought too hard about what Peter might still be saying about her, she might pull her sweatshirt hood up over her head and never come back out. She nodded. “Okay. Well. Thanks.”
“It’s the least of what I owe you.”
Yes, good. That’s how you want him to feel, like he owes you.
Now, though, the thought of him feeling indebted to her left a bad taste in her mouth. She knew grief. She’d been too young when she’d lost her father, but she had experienced loss.
The last of that knot eased up in her chest. “You don’t owe me anything,” she said gruffly. “Consider our past in the past. We’re colleagues now.”
His eyes darkened, and he took a step closer. She felt small and dainty with him so close. “Colleagues,” he murmured.
“Competitors, actually, I guess.”
“Mm.”
“Samson?”
They both looked toward the restaurant, where Tina was standing in the door, her hands on her slim hips. “We’re ready for you,” she called out.
So his date was here. Cool.
“Good luck,” Rhiannon said to him. She took a step back, then realized she didn’t want to walk through the restaurant and see the woman.
Kind, loyal, sweet.
She had no designs on Samson, that part of their relationship was finito, explanation or not, but better to not know what his ideal woman looked like.
“Thanks,” he murmured, though he didn’t sound enthused.
She spotted a gate in the garden and gestured at it. The path should allow her to circumvent the building and get to the front drive. “I’ll go. Let me know when you talk to Annabelle.”
“Do you want to stay? This won’t take long, and—”
“Nah, it’s getting late, and, uh . . .” She had a vast repertoire of excuses on how to get out of a date, but her mind blanked. “My cat’s sick.”
“You have a cat?”
No. “Yes.”
“I’m so sorry. What’s wrong with it?”
She waved her hand. “It’s nothing dire. I mean. She’s fine. She’s more my roommate’s cat.” She backed away as she spoke, patting her pockets for her valet ticket. Thank God, she never carried a purse. When you stashed everything in your pockets, you didn’t have to hunt around for an extra device carrying all your essentials. Anything that could get you in and out of places faster was her jam.
Samson followed her, looking concerned. “Let me know if you need—”
“I don’t. Anyway. Thanks again.” She whirled away and tugged at the gate, confused when the artfully weathered wood only opened a crack. She yanked harder, but it barely jostled.
A warmth enveloped her, and she nearly groaned when he stepped up right behind her, his big, enormous body filling her with heat.
His hand came in front of her and gently pressed the gate shut. His forearm brushed her shoulder, and she waited, every muscle tensed. What would she do if he insisted she stay? If he dismissed the woman who had showed up for him? If he touched her now, after he’d been so sweet and apologetic, when they were alone, in a picturesque garden . . . ?
Nothing would happen. Because they were done. Closure meant done.
He undid the latch on the gate, and he took a step back, away from her. Her breath rushed out of her and she opened the door properly, feeling foolish.
“I’ll call you after I speak with Aunt Belle,” he said to her back. “It might be a few days. She’s out of the country right now and she’s slow to return calls.”
She swallowed. Right. Yes. Annabelle. Business. “Okay. Thanks.”
His voice was husky. “See you later, Rhiannon.”
He’d whispered that in her ear when he’d slipped away from her bed, though she’d been Claire then. It was far easier to have impersonal sex with a person when they didn’t know your real name. She hesitated, then glanced over her shoulder. “Call me Rhi.”
He raised a thick eyebrow. All of him was thick, damn it. Or thicc. With two c’s. All the c’s. “Rhi? I like it. It’s short, like Claire.”
Peter had been the last man who had slept with her to use her full name, her real name. She’d been Claire to all her hookups. She didn’t believe that a name gave someone power over you but . . .
Best not to risk it.
“Samson!”
Samson glanced over his shoulder, and Rhiannon took that chance to slip through the gate. She refused to look behind her, to see if he was watching her leave. It didn’t matter.
Her phone buzzed as she got in her car, and she pulled it out to find a text from Katrina.
Are you okay? How did it go with #BeachBastard?
She gritted her teeth. She didn’t think she could call him a bastard anymore now that she’d gotten confirmation over why he’d flaked. A loved one died and I was overwhelmed with grief was a way different excuse from something came up.
Rhi texted back. It was fine. I got closure, I didn’t fall into bed with him again. He’s going to talk to Annabelle. She hesitated. She finished typing, By the way, why don’t we go ahead and get that cat you’ve been wanting?
Eeeeee. On all counts.
Rhiannon busied herself pulling up directions. She was grateful she wouldn’t have to see Katrina tonight, that she was staying in her loft. She checked the time and groaned. Even if that meant she’d be sitting in traffic forever heading back to L.A.
There was no reason to be rattled over that momentary blip of panic and attraction. That had been as cool and calm a meeting as she could have imagined. Boom, they’d settled the question of why he’d ghosted her so she could, if not trust him completely, not carry this load of anger anymore. Boom, she’d gotten the promise of an intro to Annabelle that seemed somewhat legit.
Rhi.
How did he make her nickname sound sexy?